The Strange Case of Harry Woodrow and Thomas Smith
by hawkeye-pierce08
Summary: A number of years after the death of Dr. Jekyll, someone he didn't even know existed comes looking for him. In fact, there are two people looking for him...
1. Harry Woodrow

**The Strange Case of Harry Woodrow and Thomas Smith**

Mr. Utterson rubbed his tired eyes, noting the predawn light sending schisms through his window. He had spent the better part of the night reviewing ridiculous cases that hardly deserved as much time as he had put in them. But at one point in the middle of the night, an event occurred that nearly sent Utterson to an early grave.

For years, he had neither seen nor heard the name. For weeks on end he didn't even acknowledge that it once existed. And yet, suddenly it was _there_. Utterson had no notion as to where it came from, but the postboy had merely stated that it was from a friend.

The letter was written on thin paper, though it was difficult to see the lettering inside. The hand was fluent, with an occasional jolt on random letters, as if the writer had been sitting in a carriage. At first, Utterson believed the writer to be an adult, but what he read on the inside quickly destroyed his pre-notions.

_To Mr. John Utterson, _it read, _Though I'm sure you've never heard of me in your life, I'm going to ask for your help as a 'family' friend. Tomorrow I'll ring your place at 9.00 in the morning. I can not give much information, but please, find everything you can on the man named Dr. Henry Jekyll._

_H.W.J._

And that was it. There were no markings, no smudges, nothing to suggest that it had been tampered with. The only curious thing was the unusually spastic letters every three to four words. He wrote like that of a schoolboy, rather than the upstanding smooth letters of an adult. This was going to prove interesting.

The clock rang eight, giving Utterson a start as his eyelids drooped lazily. He noticed quickly that his sitting room looked more like that of a pub than an office. With only an hour left, he hurriedly tidied the place up, desperate that nothing would come crashing out of his paper-strewn bureau.

When the fatal belled finally tolled, Utterson threw on his best jacket and opened the door himself. The early morning fog nearly took the breath from him, but he quickly forgot it when he noticed the small figure standing on his porch.

It was a small lad, no taller than Utterson's chin, with a shock of thick brown hair equaled by deep brown eyes. His face angled sharply at the bottom, and he gave the overall appearance of one stricken with melancholia. His clothes hardly fit him, and with his stoop-shouldered gait, he looked oddly…_familiar_.

As he entered, Utterson perceived small bruises on the back of his neck, dotting it in a battlefield of blues and purples. A collar tried in vain to cover them, but the clothes the boy wore were so shabby that the collar wouldn't stand upright. Nervously, he pulled at the hem. Utterson spoke first to ease the tension.

"So, son, what can I do for you this morning," he said, cheerfully patting the young man on the shoulder. Instantly he jumped, nay, recoiled, at Utterson's touch. Giving a small cry of alarm, the boy backed away slowly, apprehensive eyes darting about. The most Utterson could do was hold his hands up in retreat.

"I'm sorry; I did not mean to frighten you. May I at least ask your name?"

The boy looked around as if someone was watching him. He checked the windows, any of the doors that weren't locked, even under Utterson's desk. The minutes were dragging on, and Utterson's patience was being tried. He moved to speak, but was quickly interrupted.

"My name's Tho-"

Suddenly the boy's face contorted into a series of what looked like painful jerks and spasms. His shoulders wrenched as if taken over by a quick cold chill, and his eyes blinked rapidly. The moment it was over, he looked calm, almost at ease, though embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. My name is Harry; Harry Woodrow," he said in a smooth voice that could have flowed from the tongue had his words been made of water. Instantly, he stood straighter, held his nose higher, and clasped his thin hands behind his back. _Where have I seen that before? _thought Utterson with a raised eyebrow.

He held out a hand in proper greeting, noticing how firm a grip the boy had after he had finally settled. They proceeded then to relax in a few of the chairs scattered about the room. By this time, Utterson was much more interested in the boy rather than what he had arrived for.

"So, Harry, how old are you?"

"I turned sixteen a few months past, sir," Harry said triumphantly, as if it was amazing he had reached the age. He was very small, but upon a second glance, he looked to be a short, old man.

"Where are you from, again?"

"I don't know, sir. We move a great deal."

"Your family?"

"Yes, sir. Mother and I do not stay in one place for very long." Harry looked to his feet, a hint of shame burning on his face. Again, he began to nervously tug at the hem of his worn coat. As he stared at the floor, Utterson perceived a large line that rivered from the top of Harry's skull to the very front, stopping near the hairline. It was old, but definitely that of a traumatic scar.

Utterson didn't want to press the issue, but he wondered how the massive scar came to be. The line was nearly straight, showing that the movement was swift. Obviously, sutures were not used to treat it, as the line would be much thinner. Whether the boy fell on some sharp object, or the act was done deliberately, nothing was done to prevent any sort of infectious disease. With horror Utterson thought, _he was probably left to die_. Harry continued to speak, though his eyes were still transfixed on the floor.

"The longest time we've ever stayed in one place was when my Mother worked at _Le Sphinx _in Paris, or the _Leierkasten _in Germany; I'm not sure which. Since then, we've never stayed for more than a few weeks."

"I'm sorry to have brought the issue up. Though I am wondering about something: What was it that you came to me for in the first place?"

The air lightened as Harry remembered where he was. His face grew animated, eyes wondering about the room with renewed interest. Utterson found his sudden swing of emotion to be quite entertaining, laughing aloud at the obscure pictures that Harry pointed out. Not once did they return to the topic at hand before another of Harry's intense spasms rattled his face. Suddenly, his eyes grew sad.

"I don't mean to interrupt, sir, but I am running short of time. Did you at some point know a man named Henry Jekyll?"

Utterson nodded.

"Did you know him personally?"

"About as well as any other man, I suppose. He kept to himself, mainly. Do _you_ know him?"

Harry ruefully grinned, searching in his mind as if trying to recall an important fact, or perhaps a distant memory.

"Only from what Mother tells me. Have you not wondered what the J stands for? My full name is Henry Woodrow Jekyll. Your friend is my father…"

* * *

So, that's the beginning of my third published story (Allow me to do the ancient mariner's jig of random happiness). I'm not expecting much of a response from this one; I just find it entertaining to write. The next few chapters are going to get morbid, psychological, and just plain freaky, so I'm sorry if my style seems a bit off. Enjoy reading what I have so far, and review! 


	2. Harry Woodrow was Quite Alarmed

Utterson's face froze as if it had been struck. Suddenly, every memory he had of Jekyll came rushing back to him at full speed, causing his head to swim and his stomach to plummet. A sick feeling crept throughout his body. He wanted to lie down.

Jekyll hardly mentioned it, but as a younger man he had a devious side that often indulged in the darker side of life. He occasionally spent nights off from the University in a local pub, chattering with the usual customers on all aspects of life. Dostoyevsky once remarked that most existential thoughts are voiced in bars and whatnot, and Jekyll certainly had his opinions. Not once did her ever grow violent, though; he never drank enough to completely intoxicate him.

But now there was a son that he obviously didn't know about. It never occurred to Utterson that his friend had a love, or a lover, or that the Doctor was even interested in sex at all; most of his days were consumed with lab work. The Lawyer thought deeply.

Would Jekyll have taken his own life had he known that Harry existed? Could the boy have saved Jekyll from a horrible end, or prevented Hyde from ever being created? Utterson suddenly felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him.

What if Harry was the result of Hyde's viciousness?

Utterson knew what the _Leierkasten _and _Le Sphinx _were; the most famous brothels in Western Europe. It was possible that Hyde had grown bored or impatient, done something cruel to the poor girl, and forced her into bed with him. It was also possible that for once Jekyll _did _drink until intoxication, unable to remember all that he had done the night before. Either way, it was impossible to know now.

Which brought yet another point into Utterson's already racked brain. Did Harry know his father was dead? Surely not, as he referred to Jekyll in the present tense. How was the Lawyer supposed to tell him?

"Harry, there's something about your father you must know," he began gently. Harry perked up a bit, anxious to hear any bit of news. Utterson's heart sank. The boy was expecting too much.

"Your father died a number of years ago."

Slowly, the young man's features fell as the news sank in. The father he had only known through stories and distant recollections was completely cut off. Now he would never be able to see the man his mother described as 'the most caring of all the male species'.

Utterson was startled as Harry nearly jumped out of his seat and began pacing the room. He marched back and forth, nervously rubbing at the scar on his head. Suddenly he began speaking, but to no one.

"You promised he would be here…" Harry mumbled, his voice much deeper than usual. Utterson wanted to protest, but the young man kept talking.

"I promised nothing. How was I supposed to know?...Why didn't you check the directory before coming all the way across town for nothing?...I was being careless, I wasn't thinking…What am I to do now?"

Harry's voice bounced from one end of an octave to the other. His mad pacing was growing frantic with each step, and sweat trickled from his brow. The spasms that rtoppledd Harry's face upon his arrival were becoming even more violent than originally shown. Utterson could only watch, afraid to interfere. It was natural for someone to be upset, but the scene was…_surreal_, if anything. The young man stopped and looked about, suddenly unsure of where he was.

"I have to get out of here…I'll never escape…There's got to be a way out…Find it, stupid…Let me go!..._Let me go!_"

Harry pounded on the front door, too despondent to undue the latch. Utterson ran forward as the boy's knees nearly collapsed beneath him, and the Lawyer held the young man as if a son he would never have just scraped his knee. Tears deluged Harry's face in a river of clear slime, drizzling onto Utterson's best jacket, but neither cared.

The impact of Jekyll's death hit him at full force, causing tears to swell in Utterson's own eyes. The Doctor had been a good friend until the creation of Hyde, and now he was gone, buried in a sinner's graveyard. Had the priest known that Jekyll's suicide was for the best, he would have been laid in a more deserving place.

They sat there for the better part of an hour, until an alarming fever sprang onto Harry's forehead, causing him to phase in and out of consciousness. The mumbling continued, but was too inaudible to fully understand. A clock tolled noisily somewhere in the house, giving Utterson a start as he helped Harry to a guest room.

The poor boy's face was swollen and damp from the tears, and his eyes gazed listlessly in their sockets, not fully awake. The Lawyer made sure the young man was safe in the comfort of a warm bed before sending a telegramme to the local doctor, describing the symptoms carefully. He even added the pacing and conversation Harry had with himself.

Utterson wanted to wire the boy's mother, but there was no way he could reach her. The most he could do was sit and wait for the woman to come looking, or Harry to wake long enough to give a postcode. A maid brought in a few cool towels, as well as a pitcher of water and something small to nibble at. The rest of the day, and possibly long into the night, was going to be very tiresome indeed.

For hours he sat, reading over the cases abandoned earlier that morning, or dozing in a large chair. Only once did Harry uncomfortably stir before falling once again into a deep sleep. Utterson could barely keep his eyes open when a knock came at the door. He bid the maid to answer it, and she returned only seconds later, followed closely by a young woman.

"Harry!" she cried upon entering, passing the Lawyer completely and running towards the boy. She lovingly pushed back strands of loose hair from the young man's face, kissing his forehead gently as she did so. Utterson did not dare interrupt her.

She turned after some minutes to face the older man, and looked to the floor, nearly bowing.

"Thank you, sir, for taking care of my Harry. I wasn't sure what to do this morning when I couldn't find him, but there was a note with this address on his bedside table. I-"

"You're most welcome, madam," Utterson blurted, alarmed at her submissiveness. "He's an interesting fellow; I'm glad to have met him. And, please, allow him to remain until the fever is at least broken. There would be no trouble at all if he stayed."

The young woman's eyes lit up with such gratefulness that she held back sobs. Utterson escorted her into the sitting room where he had first met her son, and beckoned her to sit. Her small frame was engulfed by the larger chairs. To begin, he asked her name.

"Clara Woodrow, sir," she said in a rather timid voice. She looked to the floor, in much the same way Harry did upon his arrival.

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss Clara. I'm sorry to impose so suddenly like this, but may I ask where you're coming from?"

Clara nodded in approval, though she stammered from embarrassment.

"W-we live in Mann Court, sir, over by the docks." A long walk or ride, surely. And from one of the most dangerous ports in town.

Miss Clara Woodrow did not look like the sort of girl to live in and out of brothels. Most of the girls were fairly large and robust, but she was almost the exact opposite. Harry must've towered over her, though he was rather small for his age, but in no way was his mother a dwarf. Her light hair contrasted that of her son's, but it was easy to see where his dark eyes came from.

There were too many questions that Utterson wanted to ask, but he knew that the night was still young, and more than likely Clara would stay with her son. He wanted to know how she came so close to Jekyll, how she could manage to break the walls the Doctor had shut himself into. Had the two been married at some point? Did Jekyll even know she was expecting a child? Curiosity suddenly became the better of him.

"If I may, but, I was wondering. How is it that you came to know Doctor Jekyll?" said the Lawyer, regretting it the moment the phrase left his lips. But to his surprise, a regretful smile shot to her lips. She looked to Harry as she spoke.

"I was expecting you to ask, sir. You may as well sit comfortably; this is going to take a long while…"


	3. Clara Woodrow's Narrative

"Where to begin, where to begin…" Clara asked herself aloud, replaying past events in her mind. Her face reflected the silent memories in flashes, and Utterson could only imagine what some of the happier ones had been. The younger woman eventually reposed herself and began the narrative.

"The best place would be the beginning, I should think. In regards to myself, I am a native of Northern England, originally from Peterlee. My father worked with a traveling show, and all the memories of my birthplace have been long forgotten, other than the name. I've only returned once since then.

"We moved constantly until I was near Harry's age. For the latter part of my youth I did whatever was required of me at the time, but upon reaching adulthood, I began to look outward and wanted to start my own life away from the constant travel.

"Instantly I was roped into the underworld. Without food or shelter of any kind, a job offer was a gift from God, and I took it without delay. At first, I was shamed, but I was taught to quickly forget it, as there was no shame within brothel walls. By this time, I was living in Germany, and my English quickly deteriorated into German, until at one point, I forgot the language entirely."

The mention of Germany caused Utterson to snap his head in attention. Harry had mentioned something of a residency in the country, but it had only been for a few weeks. Obviously, Miss Woodrow was speaking of a longer period. She continued her narrative without noticing Utterson's reaction.

"It was there that I met Henry. He was a wonderful man, then; full of life, though his age was certainly progressing. It was easy for me to see past the graying hair, but others saw it as unnatural. A young woman such as I parading the streets with a man more than half my age; it was unheard of.

"His visits became more frequent as time went on. Unlike your first notion, we met in a small park named _Wilhelma_, and continued to meet at odd intervals. Henry spoke highly of England, his travels, his work. Whatever moved his heart somehow found a voice in the nights we walked."

Harry, who was still sleeping deeply, began to shift uncomfortably once more, and Clara nearly jumped to his side. She sat on the edge of the bed, once again brushing back his thick hair, trying to cover the scar. Her son's face was still a bit red from overexertion, but his eyes had returned to a normal state.

Utterson waited patiently for the younger woman to continue, drumming his fingers across his chin. A light layer of stubble poked at his fingertips, and what felt like a thin coating of film laminated his eyes from fatigue. Somewhere his large clock had just struck noon.

"Henry seldom mentioned what he _did_; only that he was a scientist. But I loved to listen to his ideas. He had this belief that if he could divide the human mind into two dominant beings, one side could be suppressed, therefore eliminating such things as crime and possibly evil as we know it. It sounded like a bit of madness the first time he told me of it."

Clara had a look in her eye that made it seem as if she was looking through a photo album. She gazed at Harry as she spoke, but not directly at his face, preferring to stare at his chunky, brown locks that had once been Jekyll's. Utterson had to clench his hands at the memory.

Had he have known what Jekyll was trying to discover, the Lawyer would've put an end to it immediately. It was unimaginable, outrageous, insane, and every other adjective in between. But it was also possible, and that's what killed his friend.

Utterson was generally quiet by nature, though the few hours he had spent in conversation with the small Woodrow family was interesting, and he contributed a great deal. But now he was so enraptured by Clara's tale, he didn't dare interrupt. She continued when she noticed his air of impatience.

"Then he spoke of Edward. At first, Edward was nothing more than a distant friend that stayed behind in England, but I soon realized that Henry was not being truthful. His mannerisms were that of an agitated dog whenever he mentioned Edward. It was as if he was trying to forget his friend. So I continued to find out more about this infamous man.

"My search returned little of value, as there was neither letter nor telegramme from either of the two to show they had been in touch. But Henry somehow knew exactly where and what Edward was doing at that very moment. His friend kept no schedule, so I realized that it wasn't his habits Henry had memorized. They seemed to know each other on a much more personal level.

"Then, one late afternoon, I chanced upon a box marked simply as 'Hyde'. I knew that to be Edward's christian name, and I became so interested in the box I used a shovel to bust it open. In it were nothing but vials and a bit of what looked like salt, so I quickly returned the box to its original place, and never spoke of it.

"Time quickly passed, and before I had even realized it, the holidays were coming to a close, and Henry would soon return to England. He had only planned on staying for a short time to begin with, but I was still shocked to know how fast time went. I already missed him terribly, even on nights when he was standing next to me.

"A week or so before his departure, I met the oddest man, and will be grateful if I never meet his eyes again. Edward Hyde stood in my doorway one evening, his dwarfish, awkward stature giving him the appearance of a hangman. His eyes were black as coal and nothing but evil glared from them."

Utterson squirmed in his chair at the mention of Hyde. He could easily visualize Hyde standing in a doorway, peering from a short brimmed hat at the world in front of him. The Lawyer was reminded of the night Hyde had trampled a little girl, and stood outside his flat writing a bank note. A haunting image. _You'll never have to look at _that _face again, _Utterson thought to himself.

"I invited him inside, for what reason I am yet to determine. His appearance was so alarming that I could hardly turn up the gas without hesitating, but he preferred to stay in the shadows. Since he was a friend of Henry's, I extended him every courtesy but he waved off every offer.

"Our conversation was very little, if anything at all. He hardly spoke, and when I asked Edward of his origins he merely grunted. The night seemed to drag on, and the heat was making the room feel almost lazy. At some point I yawned deeply, and Edward noticed, unfortunately.

"Without a word, and with inhuman swiftness, Edward grabbed me and I was carried off to bed. He was surprisingly gentle, and his rough hands felt like protective locks. All of a sudden, I couldn't resist him. Truthfully, I _wanted _Edward."

The Lawyer drew in a quick breath. His initial suspicions were being foretold, as if he had predicted them. Blood ran through his veins like poison when he thought of what Hyde had done. Utterson burned with unsettling rage as the first half of Clara's story came to a close.

"I admit shamefully that I did not try to stop Edward. No, I deserved it. A terrible hunger clawed at me, and I could not resist him. His movements were so smooth, and his touch so gentle, I would've never guessed that the man looked more like a brute than a human.

"Then, at the…'climactic' moment, something unusual happened. Edward shuddered so intensely, I thought he had gone into a fit. I leapt from the bed, running to the corner, but as soon as I reached it, his spasms ceased. I turned around, and there on the bed, gasping heavily, was-"

"Henry," Utterson breathlessly interrupted. His hands began to shake nervously, and air rushed out of his lungs so quickly his head began to swim. Jekyll _did _have a child, and that child had grown into a handsome young man that could've passed for his father's twin. If his father was still alive.

Harry blinked rapidly while his mother loosened the collar around his neck. The boy's face was still burning, and sweat dripped freely from his forehead, but he remained alert for the time being. Utterson tried to hide his discomfort by plastering a fake smile on his face.

Clara laid her head on Harry's chest and closed her eyes, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat. In it beat the life of Jekyll, the father Harry would never know, save through stories and pictures. It never occurred to Utterson that the short life of Hyde could possibly share the same incessant beat. No, Harry was too innocent, his heart was too pure.

The offspring of Hyde was trapped in his _brain_…

* * *

There's chapter 3 for you. But Miss Woodrow's story is only half way through! Things will start to pick upafter she finishes her story, so stick with me till then. Thanks for reviewing it so far. I was surprised it would get any reviews at all.


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